


just can't get a hold of it

by onceuponamoon



Series: pas de cheval [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Eric Bittle is captain of the Jack Zimmermann defense squad, Kent Parson is still a softie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Kent shouldn’t be jealous.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But he fucked up.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	just can't get a hold of it

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Panic! At the Disco's "Pas De Cheval."
> 
> Contains **mentions of canonical past drug overdosing/possible suicide attempt** , lots of guilt, and a panic attack. Takes place following [Sophomore Year #9 - Parse - Part III](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/111603787382).

Kent shouldn’t be jealous.

But he fucked up.

He fucked up _bad_. Bad enough that he’s maybe hyperventilating a little bit in his rental car, trying to clear his vision enough so that he can get out, go back to the hotel since tomorrow’s a game day and it’d be really, _really_ dumb to raid a liquor store or maybe hookup with one of the people from this stupid party. He wants to… _fuck_ , he doesn’t even know. He wants to crawl back and pry open Jack’s door, beg for forgiveness. He wants to leave this goddamn town and head back to Vegas where it’s bright and loud and free of any history to anchor him down. He wants to –

There’s a knock on his window and Kent jumps. Just a little.

He rolls the window down and tries to school his expression back into smooth confidence, but he knows it’s shaky at best and – “Oh, uh. Hi.”

There’s righteous fury in the guy’s face – the same face he’d seen beaming at him from over Jack’s shoulder, frowning from his knees in the hallway after he and Jack had –

Kent swallows. 

“…Can I help you?” he finally asks, because the dude’s just staring at him; well, _glaring_ , really.

“I don’t know you, and you don’t know me,” the guy starts, a flush starting in his cheeks and cresting along the bridge of his nose, “but we both know Jack so you _must_ know how wrong it was for you to say that to him.” His hands are on his hips and he looks like he’s about ready to yank Kent from the car, frog-march him back upstairs, and force him to apologize.

Kent sighs. “Look…”

“Eric Bittle. I know _who_ you are, Kent Parson, but I’ve got to say, I’m a little disappointed in what I’ve gotten to know so far.”

_Jesus_. “Look, _Eric_ ,” Kent bites out, fed up with this stupid town and this stupid situation, “you don’t – it’s not –” He sighs again and wrenches his stupid Aces hat off even though he probably has a stupid crease and that fucking cowlick is probably sticking straight up. “It’s complicated,” he finally spits out.

“Everything is,” Bittle says all matter-of-factly. He crosses his arms, cocks out his hip. “But even if it is, even if you have history with him,” he says with a dismissive hand-wave, “you should know better. Thanks to _you_ , he’s back to hidin’ in his room.” 

And maybe it’s the sudden g-drop, but Kent’s suddenly remembering playing cowboys with Jack, running around the living room at Jack’s house pretending to lasso the arm of the couch and wrestling each other to the ground like a prized calf. They’d been a bit obsessed for a few years there and while it’d faded with time, Kent’s always been a little more attracted to people with accents different than his own. Now, he’s seeing that it’s probably the same for Jack and that. That makes Kent have to swallow down more jealousy. 

“I, uh,” Kent stammers, “I, yeah, I should. But.”

“But _nothin’_ ,” Eric says, more anger flaring in those huge dark eyes. “I always heard you were a nice guy, Parson. Is that true? Or are you just a dick to Jack?”

“ _I wasn’t there_ ,” Kent blurts, sudden and loud and tinged with all of the guilt and self-loathing he’s ever felt about it. “I…he called me. Before. But he probably thought I’d say the same thing as always – ‘Just take another pill, Zimms, and then you’ll feel better.’ And I didn’t answer because I was already busy talking with agents _without him_ even though I knew he should’ve been there and I.” Kent chokes. “I didn’t go to visit him, either. After.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, but Kent hadn’t even been speaking all that loudly. There’s the pumping beat of bass still coming from that dumb fratty hockey house and all Kent can see is his hands clenching the steering wheel, Bittle in his peripherals before he vanishes too. And Kent…he probably deserves that. He deserves it when people walk away because it’s what he’s always done, too disgusted with himself for being so selfish to ever actually stay and be supportive.

But then the passenger door clicks open and there’s the scent of stale beer and fresh pastries and Kent’s looking over to see wide, concerned eyes and a hand reaching out. 

“Just…breathe, darlin’, it’ll be okay. He’ll forgive you.” 

Kent doesn’t even realize he’s. But he is. And Eric is. He’s nice. And Kent doesn’t deserve it at all. 

“Yes, you do,” Eric’s crooning, “It’s alright. I’m sorry I yelled at you; that wasn’t very nice of me, stickin’ my nose where it’s got no business bein’. Sorry I made you feel like this.”

Then Kent’s huffing a dry laugh into Bittle’s soft blue hoodie and clinging just a little bit tighter, breathing in that warm pecan pie scent just a little deeper. 

Bittle gives a laugh too and then says, “I can honestly say I never thought in my whole life I’d be huggin’ Kent Parson in his car.” 

Kent just laughs again, a little more genuine, and snuggles in deeper. He can see why Jack likes this kid. He can see how the stalwart determination might be helpful in the long run and he can see how the nurturing comfort would be perfect too. He can see how he’s everything Kent’s not. Which means he’s perfect for Jack. 

Pulling back, maybe a little embarrassed, Kent scrubs at his face and says, “Sorry for…”

Bittle rolls his eyes. “What is it with you Canadians and apologizin’ unnecessarily? _I’m_ the one who caused it; a little cryin’ is nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I wasn’t crying.” Kent subtly tries to scrub at his face, just to make sure that it’s not actually damp from tears.

“Uh huh.”

Again, Kent laughs and he looks over at Bittle and…he’s attractive. Funny. “Are you and Zimms together or…?”

“Oh, good heavens, no,” Bittle says, but he’s got this telling blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. “He’s – well, I guess not. But, uh. I didn’t know that before so, um.”

Kent says more than asks, “But you want to be.” It’s quiet in the car, which means that, yes, Bittle wants to be with Jack. Maybe he’d thought Jack was straight – which is _hilarious_ – but, either way, he clearly hadn’t known that that was even an option. Kent takes a harsh breath. “He looks at you like…the way he used to look at me.”

And maybe that’s. Maybe that’s why Kent’s spilling his guts to this stranger in this car that isn’t his own in a town that isn’t either. Or maybe Kent’s just desperate to not hold the burden alone anymore.

“Did you…”

“I love him,” Kent admits. It’s sullen and despondent, but no less true. He thinks of all the time he used to spend thinking about Jack’s sad eyes on their imaginary amorphous child, the smiles that came so easily when they’d lead their teams during the youth camps, the way he’d be all pliant, but happy and enthusiastic when Kent would tell him about the things he’d imagine them doing in their hazy, post-Cup future. Picnics in the park, birthday parties, barbeques, first skate. Kent wanted – _wants_ it all with Jack, still, even after all this time and all the history and all the fuckups. He’ll _always_ want that with Jack. “I always will. But he won’t forgive me.”

Bittle squeezes Kent’s hand. He hadn’t even realized the kid was holding it in the first place, but the little squeeze is reassuring in a way that says it’s been there for a while. “You know Jack. You know that’s not true. Not even a little bit.”

Kent’s next breath is a shuddery wreck of a thing.

“He’ll forgive you, Kent. But first you’ve gotta forgive yourself.”

 

*

 

Later, when Kent’s driving back to the hotel, feeling wrung out in a way that’ll probably get him in trouble during morning skate and catching glances of his puffy eyes in the rearview mirror, Eric Bittle’s words are ringing in his ears. 

Kent thinks that maybe he’s right.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I didn't mean for this to happen. But apparently it's a series. I swear the next bit will be fluffy, don't worry. 
> 
> You're always welcome to come cry at me on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)!


End file.
